cone of sound and fury

i am in a spot, once again, where i can understand things way beyond me and yet, Cassandrastyle, can't understand others or things present to me. let alone meet them. what to do?
ask you...
what do you do to pick yourself out of a depressive place? practices? consortiments? people? websites? please (a) suggest things, i.e. help and (b) buy Boxcutter's latest album (then think you've been ripped off, then get drunk and lonesome and listened to it full-volume and then told all your friends about it)...

i'll wake up embarrassed for this one...

we are farmed to dis/arm.
becoming a kettle of lickspittle to better belittle the speakers less-special.
from original sin to societal din to redivisible individuals too remediated to rebegin.
we dress up to stay in.
or come out so stout in the self, that our society stays thin.
rubbing itself with deep-shelf unguents and linaments spun out from the latest in-thing spin.
ever mediated, ever expediated, ever inebriated, ever experiencing.
enjoyment sipped lustily through gripped teeth and belief stripped by flipped grief.
and where's the story read to me not through me?
if you're proudly rowdy, my larynx'll loudly reverse and upend, defaulting muscles to send your messages again to my brain... injecting insects and larvae and perfidious pain, through the one reign that remained and kept my self sane.
my voice, it belongs to you, but not how i meant it to.
bred to bleed and needing to seed, and in constant alarm are made to dis/arm and make stupidly stooped ids and entities and IDs. might as well wear shoes on your knees. or say sorry when you mean please. or say nothing when you mean sorry. or resent them for making you say nothing. and hate them for resenting them for saying nothing for saying sorry for saying please.

BLinks

After some careful munching, I decided to ameliorate my other blog's name to of murk and sky. This was originally to be the name of a pirate radio story I was going to write a few years ago, but eventually put on the 'recyclable material' pile.

Also new or updated on the blogroll are the following links... Goodnight and Sweet Byzantine Dreams,Once upon a day..., and ...and hijinks ensued.

Enjoy...

Fried Rich...

About all I'm good for tonight is the delivery of the devilry of my bathroom book du jour: Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil... here's Walter Kaufman's 1966 edition, not that I know of any others...

After such cheerful commencement, a serious word would like to be heard; it appeals to the most serious. Take care, philosophers and friends, of knowledge, and beware of martyrdom! Of suffering "for the truth's sake"! Even of defending yourselves! It spoils all the innocence and fine neutrality of your conscience; it makes you headstrong against objections and red rags; it stupefies, animalizes, and brutalizes when in the struggle with danger, slander, suspicion, expulsion, and even worse consequences of hostility, you have to pose as protectors of truth upon earth - as though the truth were such an innocuous and incompetent creature as to require protectors! and you of all people, you knights of the most sorrowful countenance,* dear loafers and cobweb-spinners of the spirit! After all, you know well enough that it cannot be of any consequence if you of all people are proved right; you know that no philosopher so far has been proved right, and that there might be a more laudable truthfulness in every little question mark that you place after your special words and favourite doctrines (and occasionally after yourselves) than in all the solemn gestures and trumps before accusers and law courts. Rather, go away. Flee into concealment. And have your masks and subtlety, that you may be mistaken for what you are not, or feared a little. And don't forget the garden, the garden with the golden trelliswork. And have people around you who are as a garden - or as music on the waters in the evening, when the day is turning into memories. Choose the good solitude, the free, playful, light solitude that gives you, too, the right to remain good in some sense. How poisonous, how crafty, how bad, does every long war make one, that cannot be waged openly by means of force! How personal does a long fear make one, a long watching of enemies, of possible enemies! These outcasts of society, these long-pursued, wickedly persecuted ones - also the compulsory recluses, the Spinozas or Giodano Brunos - always come in the end, even under the most spiritual masquerade, and perhaps without being themselves aware of it, sophisticated vengeance-seekeres and poison-brewers (let someone lay bare the foundation of Spinoza's ethics ans theology!), not to speak of the stupidity of moral indignation, which is the unfailing sign in a philosopher that his philosophical sense of humour has left him. The martyrdom of the philosopher, this "sacrifice for the sake of truth," forces into the light whatever of the agitator anc actor lurks in him; and if one has so far contemplated him only with artistic curiosity, with regard to many a philosopher it is easy to understand the dangerous desire to see him also in his degeneration (degenerated into a "martyr," into a stage- and platform-bawler). Only, that it is necessary with such a desire to be clear what spectacle one will see in any case - merely a satyr play, merely an epilogue farce, merely the continued proof that the long, real tragedy is at an end, assuming that every philosophy was in its genesis a long tragedy.

*reference to Don Quixote...

Ch 25, p35-37, Nietzsche, F. (trans. W. Kaufmann).

Burning Down The House

The Rules:

1. Put your iTunes/ music player on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT
(this is in capital letters, so it is very serious. No hiding your showtunes, folks!)

After you’ve answered all of the questions, tag 5 other people and then let them know they’ve been tagged to do the meme themselves!

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?
Bullyshit - Quasimoto
(this meme is spot-on so far!)

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Underground Communication- Bassnectar
(cloak and dagger!)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
The Aircrash Bureau - Gary Numan
(true! drama feels like it chooses me, but i guess choice is a choice)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
I Want To Relax, Please! - Tei Towa
(hobble the damned hamster already!)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Laundry Baskets - Aqueduct
(the L key's nowhere near the W key. i'm in trouble...)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
It's Her Factory - Gang of Four
(no comment)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Song Against Sex - Neutral Milk Hotel
(someone stole my mojo baby...)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Beat the Odds - Dj Numark & Pomo
(hahaha... HA HA HA!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Panic - The Smiths
(-otine... if i don't get it!)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Juju Space Jazz - Brian Eno
(actually, no matter what the stumper, i'll reach that conclusion)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Fat Ass Joint - Amon Tobin
(the fucking Oracle of Delphi this is!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Angel - Massive Attack
(this question, if that's what it is, demands a stupider answer than it got)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
You Were There With Me - Four Tet
(awwww. wait. who was? wait further. where were we?)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
24 Hour Party People - Happy Mondays
(I grew up aaaages ago)

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Lycanthropy - Patrick Wolf
(ahahahahahahahahaha... ha)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Down Down Down - The Presets
(that many downs... must be a syndrome)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
True - Spandau Ballet

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Slipping Into Darkness - Dayton Sidewinders
(that's what i'll hear at least)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Faded Coat of Blue - Jolie Holland
(old things? beggary? i do like blue, but what kind of hobby is 'liking blue'?)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Fire Your Guns (Live) - AC/DC
(I guess so)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
WWIII - KMFDM

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
Burning Down The House - Talking Heads
(well, works for Monday night procrastination at least)

And the 5 Taggees Are:
James, Eve, Amy, Lucy and I don't think anyone else reads this...

posterchild for democrazy

i don't post much these days. and i'm not going to post about how i don't post post this 'post'.
i'd like instead to turn to freeverse to help thaw some anxiety here.

clackclack the crow goes
clack
grey cold gnawing on the house,
fielded nearby,
chewed stalks under thick clouds
pushed to a brittle surface
like the sad skin of a spurned lover
black feathers see such a compromise of air
and speak on the spoken
clackclack the gate shows
clack
a wind of dark trees
moans a door moans a window
as they approach
like the hearth of your parents,
it issues around the words
which are warmer when you are not there
clackclack the door goes
clack
the sound of a trick
you play on yourself
when you finally pull open

strangely, i feel more anxious than ever

squeal

I fought the law and..............[soft sound of someone passing gas in the middle-distance].
Had the prelim today at the municipal court. Checked my name on the roll, the day's list of procedures, and it wasn't there. Went to the reception, she typed in the case number, nothing digital so she called up to the clerks office and fed them all the information that was on my summons. Nothing. She even said: They don't have anything filed. So she stamped the citation and said to watch the mail, they might designate a new day OR, if nothing happened, I could consider the procedures recinded (or some such buggery). So I did a few laps of the building and saw Sven, who had been identically charged. He had experienced the same 'whoopsie'. A 'whoopsie' that he'd rented a car and driven up to Montreal from Toronto for, inconveniencing both him and Liz, who'd come for support.
???
Relief is intermingled with indignation here.
Now also, because I'm neither guilty nor not-guilty, what happened that night between us four and the 2 divisions of cops all happened outside of the law. In other words, it never happened. I can't begin to describe how an event that now never happened has fucked with me for 2 months straight...
But do I dare ask for satisfaction? That's actually quite scary.

cell is other people

do you remember when there was cellphone etiquette? when the one person you knew owned a phone would blush at a squawking 2-bit Old Macdonald ringtone, whisper apologies in every direction and hurry to the nearest permissible area as if suddenly suckerpunched by stage 2 of Montazuma's revenge? do you remember when people were exhorted to leave tables? go into other rooms? leave the house? remember when they were treated as pariahs and not as if they were the 110 decibel rallying point of convergent 'future technology'? remember when they were the only brain-tumor you had? remember when one person checking their phone led to people rolling their eyes as opposed to inducing them to check their own? when your Mum didn't have Giving the Dog a Bone as her personal ringtone for Gerry from her darts-league?
remember that? when you thought that you invented the 'they look like crazy people' joke? when PDAs held up the mini-putters behind without making you look like a total shithead?
...i just realized i could go on a long time about this one...

boasting on posting

because i've had a rat-gnawed watermelon serving as an excuse for a head this last 10 days, it is with great aplomb that I provide my first post at Architext (that name just has to go... its a smelly name, as if the teeth of my thoughts thunken have a periodontal disease). It's a snobby, self-congratulatory story, but one that'll yield to softer pastures, I'm sure. I'll stay here, for what boredom now passes as here, and try for naught but exclusive whimsy.

After deliberating through a mild spell of depressed sensibilities and general lassitude, I came up with the awkward www.liminalumen.wordpress.com... while I pondered crumbs I'd heard from elsewhere (Architorture, Anarchitecture) I settled on the facile 'Architext' as the interim title. Why would I stop here at this lacklustre inauguration? That's right! I haven't even posted on it yet. The first post'll concern the person who's work I stolenated as the banner picture. And also how 'sustainability' as a word is the new 'enemy combatant'. And also why I chose liminalumen as a domain name in the firstplace.

Left Angles

But the straight line has become an absolute tyranny.
The straight line is something cowardly drawn with a rule, without thought or feeling; it is a line which does not exist in nature.
And that the line is the rotten foundation of our doomed civilization.
- Friedensreich Hundertwasser

Our buildings are machines built by machines and designed around their convenience. We have the choice now either to willingly climb into the machine, and integrate with it the rounded edges of our dreams, or to just let the machine be built around us. Our babble is realizing its parallel process, and media is the towering superstructure. What can we do? What can we do?

The liminal space is now private: your doorstep, your school, your communal area. You have been programmed to live in this liminal space: your car, your television, your credit card. Liminal space used to afford you expansion, was your theater of transcendence. Now you cannot let your children play in the streets. Someone will sell you your power, will you stand for that? But what can we do?

Engineer = ? = Angina

!!!Inside Outside!!!

The End Is Sigh

There is a worm in your moon
nibbling at each eye you cast to it
There is a leaded net, sunken dark
far from the shattered shore
There is a phrase that brought you joy
that will never utter itself again
And you'll be lost in the same woods that you once loved so dearly

{pruned}

Again, this site Pruned offers observations most observational!
Commodification of the Sublime? Hmmmm. HMMMM!